


We Are the Crossroads

by Cinaed



Series: Restoration, or All Roads Lead to Ishval [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Community: fma_fic_contest, First Meetings, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The city, he has learned, is never silent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are the Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the entire series! Written for the prompt "What is SHE doing here?" for fma_fic_contest. The title comes from "Snow and Dirty Rain" by Richard Siken.

The city, he has learned, is never silent. Even during the night, there is the distant sound of a baby crying, or an argument on the street, their voices loud enough to press against the windows of his house and let the words seep through and disturb his sleep. 

It was after the near annihilation of his people, once he began to wield his brother's sacrifice in anger and in grief, that he learned to truly pay attention to a person's movements. He watched the twitch in an alchemist's wrist that meant he was about to try and use his alchemy, heard the catch in his voice that meant the man was about to do something desperate. He learned the ways of a man's body, and all the ways his gestures and words betrayed him to an enemy. 

Now he is learning how to feel the pulse of the city and its multitudes, decipher the emotion in the conversations of the crowd or in its sudden relative quiet. If he listens right now as he mounts the steps to his makeshift office, he can hear the stumbling, stuttering halts in conversations, the shift to murmurs of confusion and curiosity. 

"Who are they?" someone asks.

Another whispers loudly, "What is she doing here?"

His foot resting on the last step, he turns to look at this newcomer invoking so many comments and questions. His own curiosity (which is a quiet itch in the back of his mind) aside, Miles will want to know about someone causing a stir. 

There are three things immediately obvious about the woman standing at the bottom of the steps and staring up at him. One, she is not of Ishval-- her eyes are an odd purpe shade, her skin pale as goat's milk. Two, she is not an Amestrian soldier, for she does not carry herself like one, and she does not wear the Amestrian blue. Three, she  _is_  the leader of a group of fifteen or so fellow non-Ishvalans, non-soldiers who stand behind her, holding boxes and shuffling their feet awkwardly. 

"I am told you are the man to speak with," she says, meeting his eyes and smiling. It is a warm, friendly look, one that invites him to smile back. 

He doesn't, just inclines his head in acknowledgment and walks back down the steps so that they may speak face-to-face. He is not a man for easy smiles, not for what few people he might consider friends, and not for strangers. 

"That depends on what it is you need to speak about," he says. "I am merely one of many trying to restore Ishval." If Miles were here instead of east in Gunja dealing with a dispute between soldiers and a priest, he thinks Miles would snort at this and tell him he was being too modest again, for all that Ishvala tells them to be humble in their hearts. 

"We are from Reole," the woman says. 

The name stirs a memory. "The town with the false god," he says. One of the many places used by the Homunculi to create chaos and bloodshed. 

"Yes," she says. Her mouth twists briefly, as though she has bitten into something sour. He knows the look well-- she is reliving some unpleasant memory. She pauses, looks at the crowd, which is watching avidly. "We have some skill and knowledge at rebuilding a town, and we thought we might...help." 

He looks at her then, sees the heartfelt look in her strange-colored eyes, and knows she is entirely in earnest. She has traveled here, with these men and women, to aid his people any way that they can and offer their own hard-earned knowledge, that they might save Ishvala's people a little suffering and grief. 

The crowd is murmuring now. He can catch the occasional word and phrase like-- "Reole" and "help us?" He lets the people talk among themselves for a moment before he answers, choosing each word carefully. The words are easier to say than he expects, for he is still learning to both offer and accept help gracefully. 

"Those who seek knowledge are dearest to Ishvala. We would be fools indeed to turn away what wisdom you can offer." 

The woman smiles once more; this time the curve of her mouth is tentative, almost shy. "Our town is a speck compared to Ishval, but what information we have that can help you, we offer freely. And I brought many of our best carpenters as well." 

"Major Miles is overseeing the reconstruction. When he returns from Gunja, he will put your carpenters to work," he assures her. He glances once more at the woman's fellow Reole travelers. Many of their faces are turning pink, not from embarrassment, but from the heat. 

"Come," he says. His office will not hold all sixteen visitors, but they are guests, nevertheless. He will show them the hospitality of Ishvala and make them as comfortable as he can. "Let us discuss this inside and out of the sun." 

The woman nods, and they walk together up the stairs. "My name is Rosé Thomas, by the way," she says, glancing sideways at him and laughing a little. "I probably should have introduced myself first, but I'd had the speech all prepared and didn't want to forget it." 

"You may call me what you like," he answers, and takes another step before he realizes she has paused. When he glances back, she is scrunching up her nose and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. 

"I-- don't mean to cause any offense," she says, "but I...don't know what that  _means_."

Somewhere, he thinks, Miles is laughing and doesn't know why.


End file.
